


Domesticity

by pkmntrainer_alex



Category: One Piece
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:01:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24981997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pkmntrainer_alex/pseuds/pkmntrainer_alex
Summary: Collection of sweet Crocodile x Robin drabbles (that I will try to add to when I have the time)
Relationships: Crocodile/Nico Robin
Comments: 10
Kudos: 22





	1. Waking

Crocodile hated early meetings, though nearly all of them were a result of his planning. The sooner he got business out of the way, the more room there was in his schedule for pleasure. That had been his reasoning at the time, anyway. But at this moment, standing half-awake in his bedroom, he can scarcely remember how to get dressed, let alone the agenda for his multiple meetings. 

_ “One meeting per pairing,” _ he reminded himself as he struggled with his pants, trying not to wake Robin - known to everyone else as Miss All Sunday - who was still fast asleep in their bed. That meant...Daz and Miss Doublefinger...Bon Clay (fucking  _ hell _ , why had he agreed to  _ that _ one?)...Mr. 3 and Miss Goldenweek...unless he was mistaken, that had to be the only meetings for today…

Fumbling to try and force one leg through his pants - which looked almost indistinguishable from the rest of the dark room around him - Crocodile started to fall sideways, in an undignified fashion he was glad nobody could see. Before he could slam into the floor, two slim pairs of arms bloomed from the floor and the foot of the bed, catching him and pulling him upright. Their touches were firm but careful, grasping him by his ankles and the back of his shirt.

Blushing slightly, Crocodile straightened up, silently and slowly pulling his pants the rest of the way up, casting a glance towards the bed as he buckled. Robin was still on her side, back to him, her body moving beneath the blankets with her deep, even breathing. But she was awake - and he knew it.

“I’ll be back in no time,” Crocodile murmured, keeping his voice low as he turned to leave the room, footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. As his hand touched the doorknob, he felt a heavy weight over his shoulders as yet another pair of arms threw his thick fur coat over him - something he did not like to be seen in public without.

Crocodile turned around, and one of the arms waved at him. In the shadow of the room, he could see Robin’s figure moving with her sweet laughs. He felt a smile spreading over his lips as he left the room, careful to turn the knob as he shut the door, knowing she would be right where he left her upon his return.


	2. Interruptions

Without fail, it seemed there was always something to interrupt Robin’s afternoon nap.

It wasn’t as though she needed a nap. Not at all. But it was nice to have the option of taking a nap, to lay down for a bit and close her eyes after getting up before the sun rose and constantly being on the move. The inescapable heat of Alabasta wore her down, made her tired - a nap was the least of what she deserved, working as hard as she was.

Unfortunately, without Crocodile on location in Rain Dinners, that left Robin to field any complications or emergency meetings that arose among the various members of Baroque Works. These hiccups ranged from major - the possible discovery of one of their private bases - to minor - a squabble of misappropriation of supplies. Robin sorted it all out easily enough, with the gentle ease that came naturally to her, though it seemed something else would arise, without fail, right as she went to put her head down. Every day, without fail.

Robin did her best to take it in stride, not really being one to complain in the first place. She’d only ever mentioned it in passing when she spoke to Crocodile when he called one evening - more to make a joke about it than anything. The only notice he gave was a slightly longer pause, barely noticeable to someone who didn’t know him, before changing the subject.

The next day, Robin was surprised to wake up after her nap to her alarm, rested and undisturbed. It was the same the following day, and the following, and the following. That, too, was brought up to Crocodile over a call. 

He’d given a small chuckle. “When I say ‘jump,’ they say ‘how high?’ And when I say to leave Miss All Sunday alone during certain hours of the day…”

“They say ‘yes, sir?’” Robin found herself smiling as she looked out the window of her office, seeing all of Rainbase bustling as the late afternoon turned to evening.

“They had better. Or they will not be with us much longer.”

"I never asked you to do such a thing."

"And you'll never have to. I will see you when I return."


	3. In Transit

Most people would not have easily guessed just by looking at him, but Crocodile was a man who hated travel. Absolutely nothing about it suited him - not the packing, not the transportation arrangements, and  _ certainly _ not needing to find lodgings or adjust to a new locale. 

And all that was without even considering all the things that could go wrong when he was en route from one place to another. In Rainbase, it was easy enough, with all control at his fingertips and the ability to remedy any problem large or small. But if he were away from his base of operations, in another city - or, god forbid, on another island? Too many unknown factors. Too much risk. 

Crocodile hated it. And yet.

When he arrived at his previously procured lodgings, he found not a single thing to complain about - not even the usual passing gripes, such as dirty windows or stained curtains. There was a fire roaring happily in the fireplace, casting flickers of light all over the room, and a stiff drink was sitting right beside the door - so fresh, the ice had not yet begun to melt. The heavy oak desk had an open box of cigars waiting for him. Directly beside it was a golden lighter, hand-crafted to look like a bananawani. He flicked the banana-shaped growth on its head, and flames spit out of its mouth.

Beneath the box of cigars was a small note, with delicate handwriting he would recognize anywhere.

“A little something to take the edge off.”

Crocodile held his cigar in his teeth, a smile on his lips as he flicked the bananawani. She knew him so well.


	4. Conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I wrote this chapter especially for @chillyacademic - I do hope you like it <3  
> \- EDIT 7/28 - fixed a dumb mistake I made while half awake, sorry!

Evenings were always a quiet affair. For all the trouble and chaos sown through Alabasta and beyond by Baroque Works, barely a whisper of it ever disrupted the time Robin spent with Crocodile at day’s end. They lounged together in his office, or in hers, or sometimes in the shared living space within the casino. Wherever they were, it was a guarantee that things were calm and collected, few words exchanged but communicating all the same.

Robin laid back on an oversized couch upholstered in dark leather, cool to the touch whenever she shifted. One arm stretched to the back of her head as another held open a heavy book with dusty, yellowed pages. It was a hard-to-find and expensive book on archeology, with theories on ancient runes and guidestones - a treasured find indeed. Robin had come back for the day to find it on the coffee table, along with a warm cup of her favorite tea. A length of ribbon in an elegant shade of amethyst had been laid over the cover - a bookmark, she presumed, for when and if she was able to put the book down.

On the other side of the room, looking out the window at the Alabastan sunset, Crocodile sat with his legs up in his favorite chair, hook around his drink and his hand absently touching at his cigar. It was not his usual type, no - this was more difficult to find, even for a Warlord. The dried and fermented tobacco within came from a special location all the way in Dressrosa. As much as Crocodile loved these cigars, he was loath to open any line of communication to the other kingdom. Regardless of his discretion, a certain someone found out every single time. Someone Crocodile didn’t care much to speak to.

As the sun disappeared beyond the horizon, Crocodile looked over at Robin on the couch. Robin, who could open clandestine communication with contacts in Dressrosa completely unnoticed.  Robin looked up from her book when she felt his gaze, and smiled at Crocodile. Crocodile, for whom no rare or priceless book was out of reach. One smile begot another, and the calm silence between them turned warm as he turned back to the window and she to her book. 

Not a word spoken, and always communicating.


	5. Comfort

In private, Crocodile was not quite as good with his words as he’d led many to believe.

Out in public - whether it was with the other Shichibukai, members of Baroque Works, or whoever it may be - Crocodile felt like a different man. Self-assured, confident, and perhaps with a bit of swagger. He carried himself differently and he saw himself differently. Image was everything, of course - a foreboding enough image and most people would never even need to see the brute force beneath the surface.

In private, especially with her, it was different. A side of himself he would die before revealing to his employees or contemporaries. Stopping to stretch the tight muscles in his back, or massaging the chafed skin when the hook connects to his arm. Perceived moments of weakness Crocodile could never let anyone else see.

She was different. She had been from the start. Crocodile had never intended for her to see any of it - he had intended for her to stay grouped with the others. Distant. At arm’s length. Seeing only what he intended her to see. He wasn’t quite sure when it changed.

One foot in the door, left alone with her, and it was though his whole world changed. From blood in the air, nerves on high alert, to lazy relaxation, a comfort he’d never felt. There was never need to pretend with her, never a need to act. 

Crocodile reflected on such things as he hung his heavy coat up by the door, having returned at the end of an exceptionally long day, casting a glance in her direction as she sat across the room in her usual spot. Her head was bowed over the book on her lap, but he knew she was not reading it. After a moment of silence, he saw the corners of her mouth turn upwards.

“Welcome home.”


End file.
